


And Your Moonlight Too

by carolinecrane



Category: Veritas: The Quest
Genre: Fake Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Above all, always come up with a believable cover story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Your Moonlight Too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [water_bby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/water_bby/gifts).



Solomon had no idea how long he’d been in the cell when the heavy door opened, scraping across the stone floor and sending a jolt of dread down his spine. When his captors tossed him in here he’d only been half-conscious, a combination of exhaustion and pain making the world spin until he finally, blessedly passed out.

He wasn’t sure how many days had passed since he’d been captured. There were no windows in the cell so he couldn’t count sunrises, but he was fairly sure it had only been two or three days. They’d only dragged him out of his cell to question him twice, but his entire body ached from their attempts at persuading him to give up the location of the artifact they wanted.

So far he hadn’t cracked, but if he didn’t give them something soon he was sure they’d decide he wasn’t worth keeping alive and dispose of him. He was glad it was him down here instead of Nikko or one of the others, but that didn’t mean he was all that excited about sacrificing himself for the cause. The pieces of the Ring of Destiny were important – essential, probably – but that didn’t mean he was in a hurry to die protecting one of them. 

His only comfort as rough hands gripped his bruised arms and dragged him up off the floor was that the artifact they were looking for was safely locked away in a vault thousands of miles away. The team had taken it back to Veritas headquarters by now, that much Solomon could count on, so there was no chance of his captors getting their hands on it.

He racked his addled brain for a plausible lie as two men dragged him up a flight of stairs, but instead of locking him in yet another windowless room where he would be beaten while they shouted questions at him, he was dragged down another hallway, up a second flight of stairs, and shoved into a new room.

This one did have windows, sunlight streaming through them and illuminating a bed and a door that probably let to an en-suite bathroom. “Clean yourself up,” one of the men growled at him. “And don’t bother trying to escape through the windows, they’re bolted shut.”

They were gone before Solomon could ask what this was all about, not that he really expected an answer. One of his eyes was a little puffy from an elbow he’d taken to the face on his first day of capture, but through his good eye he made out a change of clothes on the bed. That seemed a little weird, considering, but he hadn’t showered in what felt like weeks, so he summoned the energy to cross the room and let himself into the bathroom.

The shower was big enough to house a small family, but the water was hot and felt amazing on his skin, and soon he was enveloped in a cloud of thick steam. The water stung where it hit open wounds, but the heat felt good on his sore muscles and by the time he was done he actually felt a little better. 

The clothes they’d left him were in the local fashion; a pair of loose cream-colored cotton pants and a matching long cotton tunic with a colorful design embroidered along the neckline. He considered putting his cargo pants and ripped t-shirt back on, but they really were filthy. And anyway, it was clear they had some kind of plan in mind for him, so they’d probably just force him into the clean clothes whether he wanted them or not.

It didn’t make sense to dress him up just to torture him again, but he wasn’t really in a position to argue, at least not until he figured a way out of here. He’d kept his eyes open – as well as he could with one of them swollen half-shut, anyway – for an opportunity to escape, but so far all he’d seen of the compound was his cell and the room where he’d been interrogated. This was the first time he’d seen any part of the main house, and he had a feeling if he was going to escape, this was his best chance.

He tried the windows first, but they were bolted just as tightly as promised. There was no window in the bathroom at all, and the door that led to the hallway was locked tight. Solomon looked around for an air vent, but the register opening was so narrow he knew he wouldn’t be able to fit through. Which meant his best bet was to catch one of his jailers off guard and make a break for it while they were moving him from one place to another, and he needed to find his moment before they stuck him back in his cell.

The door opened again and two men came in, though whether or not they were the same men who’d brought him here, he couldn’t say. Not that it mattered; they were all the same, with the same rough grip and the same dark uniforms and the same rifles slung over their backs. If Solomon could get his hands on one of their guns he knew he could escape, but the chances of managing that when there were always at least two men guarding him were slim at best.

They pulled him back out of the room and down a hall, past several closed doors to a narrow staircase. They couldn’t fit three abreast down the stairs, so they let go of his arms and one of them went ahead of him while the other shoved him toward the stairs and swung his gun off his back to point it at Solomon's back. That was a complication he hadn’t planned for, but he kept his eyes open for an opportunity anyway, and when the man ahead of him was nearly at the bottom of the staircase, Solomon lunged forward and shoved him.

He stumbled on the stone steps, and Solomon swung around and grabbed the rifle to point it away from him. The man behind him was caught off guard, stumbling backwards to catch his shoulder on the stone wall. Solomon let go of the gun and turned to run, but before he even got down the stairs something hit him hard in the stomach, and he grunted in pain and doubled over. The man in front of him trained his rifle on Solomon, then the other man grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him back to a standing position.

He was shoved along the hall and through an arched doorway, stumbling again when the man gripping his arm shoved him into the center of the room. Solomon straightened up, wincing and rubbing his stomach where he knew a fresh bruise was already forming. He looked around the room, and when his gaze fell on a familiar face his heart leapt in his chest.

As soon as their eyes met Vincent strode forward, and something about the hard look on his face told Solomon he should keep his mouth shut and see how this played out. Vincent’s clothes were another clue. His pants were black and tapered at his calves, and the shirt he was wearing wrapped around his torso the way traditional Thai ceremonial clothes did. Solomon had only seen him dressed that way once before, when he was posing as a Thai official to bluff his way into a private auction in Taiwan.

Vincent stopped in front of him and gripped Solomon’s chin more gently than Solomon expected, easing his head to the side so Vincent could inspect his swollen eye. He turned Solomon’s face the other way and inspected his good eye too, then he turned Solomon’s face back toward him and leaned in to kiss him hard.

Before Solomon had time to react it was over, then Vincent let go of his chin and turned away to face a man Solomon hadn't seen since his first interrogation. “My property has been damaged.”

“An unfortunate accident, Khun Anawat.”

Solomon let out a huff of laughter that made his sore ribs ache. When he gripped his stomach Vincent turned back to him, then he pushed Solomon’s hand away and tugged his tunic up to reveal the bruises covering his stomach and sides. They ranged in color from black to an angry red, save the one at the center of his stomach that was just starting to turn slightly purple. He couldn’t see the angry cuts on Solomon’s back or his thighs, but the bruises alone were enough to make Vincent’s expression turn stormy.

“You call this an accident, Sheikh Rashid? I demand compensation.”

The Sheikh’s expression went as stormy as Vincent’s, and he took a step forward. “Your man has been returned to you. Next time he wanders into my territory uninvited, he may not be so lucky.”

“A threat? Is that wise?” Vincent said, the sudden gravel in his voice sending a shiver down Solomon’s spine.

“Merely an observation,” the Sheikh answered, his posture loosening to something that Solomon assumed was meant to be casual, but still managed to look threatening. “My territory is large and I cannot always intervene before certain… steps are taken.”

Vincent looked like he wanted to argue, but he thought better of it and reached out to grip Solomon’s arm instead. His grip was more gentle than the Shiekh’s goons’ had been, though, and when he nudged Solomon toward the arched door that led out to the courtyard, Solomon took the hint and followed him gladly. Outside the compound a Jeep was waiting, the engine idling and Cal behind the wheel. Solomon let Vincent help him climb in, and if Vincent’s hands lingered on parts of him more than they normally would, he assumed it was for the benefit of the audience he was sure was watching.

Vincent climbed in after him, forgoing the empty front seat to sit next to Solomon in the back. As soon as they were settled Cal pulled away from the compound, bouncing over the desert and making Solomon wince with every jostle. It was worth every stab of pain to know he was safely away from the Shiekh’s clutches, though, and before long they reached actual pavement and the stabbing pain settled back into a dull ache.

“Your property?” Solomon said, turning to find Vincent watching him.

For a moment Vincent didn’t answer. He was looking at Solomon with the same fierceness as he had while he was pretending to be Khun Anawat, and Solomon had a sudden flash of Vincent’s lips pressed against his. Then Vincent flashed an enigmatic smile, and Solomon felt his cheeks flush. “Technically you are Khun Anawat’s husband. But given Anawat’s rank in Thai society, ‘property’ is synonymous with 'American trophy husband'.”

“I see,” Solomon said, grinning at the idea that he was a ‘trophy’ anything. He cast a glance toward the front of the Jeep where Cal was still driving, but if he could hear their conversation, he wasn’t letting on. “So how’d you get me out of there?”

“Rashid was convinced that yours was a case of mistaken identity,” Vincent said. “It required a call from a representative of the Thai royal family. Along with a substantial bribe.”

“And who do you know in the Thai royal family?”

“No one, but I have a contact at the embassy who owed me a favor.”

Solomon smiled as they turned onto the road that led to a small, private airstrip. In the distance he saw their plane taxiing out of a hanger, and he had to stop himself from turning around to make sure they weren't being followed by armed men in dark uniforms. A few minutes later they pulled up in front of the hanger, and Solomon's heart gave another jolt at the sight of Nikko jogging across the tarmac to meet them.

“Dad,” he said as he watched Vincent help Solomon out of the Jeep, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine, son. Just a few bruises,” Solomon answered. He reached out and gripped Nikko’s shoulder, squeezing for a second before he let go again. “I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

Nikko looked doubtful, but he didn’t argue. Instead he looked Solomon up and down, a slow grin spreading across his features. “Nice threads.”

“Yeah, well, they made me clean up before they handed me over to my husband,” Solomon said, glancing over at Vincent. “I guess they were a little worried he’d complain about the smell if I didn’t take a shower.”

“I believe that was their attempt to disguise the amount of damage they’d done,” Vincent said, the fierce look back in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re ready to fly? We could arrange a doctor visit.”

“I’m fine,” Solomon said again, more forcefully this time. The last thing he wanted to do was stay in the country even long enough to get patched up. He was pretty sure there was no permanent damage, anyway, and a few scrapes and bruises could wait if it meant getting the team to safety as quickly as possible.

Vincent studied him for a moment, and Solomon could tell he was thinking about insisting they get a doctor to come out and examine him before they took off. He braced himself for a fight, but a moment later Vincent nodded. He reached out, fingers grazing the line of Solomon’s jaw just below the largest bruise on his cheek. Just for a second he thought Vincent might kiss him again, in spite of the fact that Nikko and probably Cal were watching them.

Instead Vincent pulled his hand away from Solomon’s face, then he took a step backwards and looked over at the plane. “Well then, I believe we are cleared for takeoff.”

Solomon nodded and followed Vincent toward the plane, doing his best not to replay the feeling of Vincent’s lips pressed against his. There had been nothing soft about the kiss; it was hard and insistent and over way too quickly for Solomon to decide whether or not it was something he wanted to do again. Except that he kept thinking about it, and he hadn’t moved away when he thought Vincent might kiss him in front of Nikko.

He managed to stay awake long enough to answer Nikko’s questions about what had happened to him. He downplayed the details of his torture as much as he could, but he could tell by the tension in Vincent’s jaw that he wasn’t fooling everybody. Then again, Vincent had seen the bruises on his stomach and torso, and he’d seen enough torture in his lifetime to know the bruises didn’t stop there.

“How’d you manage to convince them we didn’t have the artifact?” Solomon finally asked, looking over at Vincent for the answer.

“My contact at the embassy helped us plant false information about Dorna operatives beating Veritas to the site. After that it was a matter of convincing the Sheikh that you weren’t a treasure hunter, but Khun Anawat’s representative here on official business.”

“And they actually bought that?”

“The bribe helped,” Vincent said, but he didn’t laugh along with the rest of them. “If they hadn’t believed that Dorna beat us to the artifact, the likelihood is that no amount of money would have bought your freedom.”

The look on Vincent’s face told Solomon he was imagining that possibility, and that he didn’t like their odds. The fact that Solomon was safe and headed back to New York didn’t seem to make him feel that much better, and when Vincent’s gaze trailed down to the center of Solomon’s chest, he had a feeling he knew why. 

“So where is the artifact?” Solomon asked, mostly to distract Vincent from thinking about his injuries. 

“Maggie and Juliet went back to New York with it when you were captured. We thought it prudent to make it disappear in order to give us plausible deniability.”

Solomon nodded and leaned back a little further in his chair, wincing when his injuries complained at the movement. “Good. If I’m going to be tortured, I’d at least like to have something to show for it.”

Vincent’s expression darkened, but all he said was, “You should get some rest.”

Under different circumstances Solomon would probably argue with him, but the truth was that his eyes felt heavy and all he really wanted to do was close them for a while. He fell asleep almost immediately, and when he finally blinked his eyes open again Vincent was gone. Cal was stretched out on the other side of the cabin, fast asleep, and Nikko was in the chair next to him, earphones in and his nose buried in a comic book. Solomon shifted, wincing as the soreness in his body came rushing back to life.

The movement caught Nikko’s attention, and he pulled his headphones off and looked over as Solomon stood up. “Feeling okay?”

“Never better,” Solomon said, grinning when Nikko rolled his eyes. “Where’s Vincent?”

“Up front talking to the pilot. I think we're almost there.”

Solomon was surprised to hear he’d slept through almost the entire flight, but it was probably for the best. He was in worse shape than he wanted to admit, even to himself, and his injuries were going to slow him down for a few days. Even standing up took longer than it should, and Solomon winced again as he straightened up and crossed the cabin to the bathroom.

Once he’d relieved himself and washed his hands he glanced in the mirror, then he did a double take. His eye was puffier than he remembered, the bruise on his cheek an ugly purple. What little of his eye that was still visible was bright red, like something out of a horror movie. He understood now why Vincent kept looking at him like he was expecting Solomon to fall apart, even if Solomon was pretty sure it looked worse than it actually was.

He sighed and pulled the bathroom door open, stepping into the narrow hallway to find himself face to face with Vincent. They were barely inches from one another in the tight space, close enough for Solomon to feel the heat radiating off Vincent’s body. He’d changed out of his traditional Thai costume and into a pair of dark grey slacks and a black sweater. Solomon glanced down at his own clothes, shaking his head at the ornate tunic.

“Now I really feel conspicuous.” 

Vincent’s features relaxed into an almost-smile and he reached out to tug the front of the tunic. “You look quite regal.”

“So I could pass for the husband of a high-ranking Thai official?” Solomon grinned, expecting Vincent to laugh or make a joke about any husband of his cleaning up better than Solomon. Instead Vincent’s eyes went dark, and Solomon swallowed against a sudden tightness in his belly. He cleared his throat and did his best not to blush. “I don’t suppose there’s a change of clothes on board?”

“I believe Nikko was in charge of retrieving your luggage.” Vincent frowned at the bruise on Solomon’s cheek, his hand coming up as though he was thinking about touching again, then he thought better of it and dropped his hand back to his side. “You should get strapped in. We’ll be landing soon.”

He nodded and let Vincent lead him back to the cabin, taking his seat next to Nikko and leaning over to tap him on the shoulder. When Nikko looked up Solomon reached over to pull his headphones away from one ear, but the motion made him wince and he sat back in his seat. “Damn.”

“Dad? You okay?”

“Yeah, just have to remember not to move too fast for a little while,” Solomon answered. “Vincent tells me you were in charge of my suitcase.”

“Yeah, I sent it back with Maggie and Juliet,” Nikko said, then he glanced down at Solomon’s clothes. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s all right, son.” Solomon forced a smile and willed himself not to look over at Vincent. He had a feeling the borrowed clothes were the one part of this whole situation Vincent did find amusing, and the last thing he wanted to do was look over and find Vincent laughing at him. “Guess I’ll just go through Customs as Khun Anawat’s consort.”

“Yeah, about that,” Nikko said, turning to look over at Vincent. “I’m not calling you Dad.”

That did get a chuckle out of Vincent, and Solomon ventured a glance to find Vincent smiling at Nikko. "And here I was considering getting us matching outfits.”

“If they look anything like Dad’s outfit, I’ll pass.”

“Your father was dressed by a Shiekh,” Vincent said. “Technically he’s fit for a royal court.”

“Good for him,” Nikko said, then he put his headphones back on and went back to his comic book.

Solomon grinned and looked over at Vincent again, but this time Vincent was looking right back at him. At the same moment the plane lost altitude, and Solomon couldn’t say if the way his stomach dropped was because of the plane or the way Vincent was looking at him. He was still trying to figure it out when Calvin stirred, then he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Are we still in the air?”

“We’re heading in for landing now,” Vincent answered, eyes still firmly on Solomon. “Put your seatbelt on.”

~

Customs was mostly painless, mainly because the airport they used was small and the agents were familiar with them. Solomon got a few looks thanks to his clothes, but no one asked any questions, and before long they were in a cab on their way back to the city. By the time they pulled up in front of their building Solomon was more than ready to be done with traveling. He did his best not to wince as he climbed out of the cab, stretching his legs and feeling it in every bruise on his body.

A hand landed on his back and he glanced over to find Vincent standing next to him, fingers warm through the cotton of his tunic, but gentle enough to keep from hurting Solomon. It stayed there on the way to the elevator, then past the lab and his office to his bedroom. Solomon tried to stop and check in with Maggie, or at least stop in his office to check his email, but Vincent kept him moving forward until he was standing in the center of his own room.

“Vincent, I appreciate the concern, but I slept almost the whole way home. I’m really not tired.”

Vincent fixed him with the same angry look he’d been wearing when he first saw Solomon’s bruises back in the Shiekh’s compound. If he was anyone else he probably would have been terrified, but Solomon knew Vincent well enough to understand that he was angry at the bruises, not Solomon.

“We need to see about your wounds.”

“They’re just bruises,” Solomon insisted, but he didn’t argue when Vincent reached for the tunic and tugged it over his stomach. Lifting his arms far enough to let Vincent pull it over his head didn’t feel good, and Solomon wasn’t sure he would have been able to manage alone. Not that he was going to admit that to Vincent, especially when his hands were on Solomon to turn him until Vincent could see his back.

Vincent didn’t make any noise, but his fingers tensed against Solomon’s shoulder, just for a second. He’d felt the sting of the open wounds on his back while he was in the shower, but they didn’t hurt all that much, so he figured they weren’t that bad. Then Vincent’s fingers slid down his back, just tracing the outline of one of his wounds, and Solomon had to bite back a surprised hiss. 

“These are more than just bruises.” Vincent’s voice was low, but his fingers were still moving on Solomon’s skin, and it was taking all of Solomon’s concentration not to react to the touch. 

“The worst of it was on the first day,” Solomon said, doing his best to keep his voice even. “They stopped trying to break me pretty quickly. Probably when your contact at the embassy called and let them know they were about to start an international incident.”

Vincent didn’t answer, but his hands kept moving on Solomon’s back, not cataloging the damage so much as tracing patterns along Solomon’s skin. When he reached the base of Solomon’s spine Vincent’s fingers stopped moving, hovering just above the waistband of his cotton pants. “There’s more.”

It wasn’t a question, so Solomon didn’t bother with an answer. He could feel the bruises on his back and knew they continued past where Vincent could see, just like he knew it wouldn’t change anything if Vincent saw the marks on his thighs. He’d gotten Solomon out of there faster than anyone else would have been able to, and that was the only thing that mattered.

Solomon glanced over his shoulder, but all he could see was Vincent’s forehead as he frowned down at Solomon’s back. “Why did you say I was your husband? I mean, you could have just said I was your employee in the country on your orders.”

“I could have,” Vincent said, his hands leaving Solomon’s back. It made Solomon feel strangely cold, and when Vincent didn’t reach out again Solomon turned to face him. As soon as he did Vincent’s gaze slid down to the bruise developing on his stomach, vaguely shaped like the butt of an assault rifle.

“That one’s new,” Solomon said. “I tried to make a break for it right before they let me go.”

The sound Vincent made was somewhere between a growl and a snarl, and it sent a shiver straight down Solomon’s spine. “I was promised you would not be harmed further.”

“Protecting your property?”

He didn’t mean for it to sound like a challenge, but it came out that way all the same. Vincent moved a little closer, and this time when he reached up he didn’t hesitate to touch. His fingers grazed the unbruised skin along Solomon’s jawline, head tilting as though he was studying Solomon. Or maybe he was trying to decide the best way to kiss Solomon without hurting him. Either way, Solomon was getting tired of waiting, so he gripped the front of Vincent’s sweater and dragged him forward to press their lips together.

It took a second for Vincent to respond, but a moment later he slid his hand into Solomon’s hair and parted his lips against Solomon’s. This kiss was softer than their first one, slow and gentle and he could tell Vincent was trying not to cause him any pain. He pulled back long before Solomon was ready, but he slid his hand around the back of Solomon's head to curve possessively around the back of his neck.

“I told the Shiekh you were my husband because you are American. It would have been difficult to pass you off as a Thai bureaucrat. But the real reason,” Vincent added, his fingers moving on the back of Solomon’s neck in distracting little circles, “was that I felt our cover story should match the emotion I knew I would not be able to hide when I saw you.”

Vincent was always intense, even when he was messing with Nikko or joking around with Calvin and Juliet. Solomon had spent years studying his moods, learning when he was joking or putting on the ‘sage teacher’ act just to get a rise out of someone. But he’d never seen this kind of intensity on Vincent’s face before, and he wondered how much it had cost Vincent to hide his feelings.

“You sure hid it from me long enough.”

“Generally you do not put yourself in such danger,” Vincent said, but he was smiling now.

Solomon let out a shaky laugh and slid his hands down Vincent’s chest to settle at his waist. “Why haven’t we ever played husbands before?”

“Normally you assign Juliet the role of my wife.”

“She does really seem to get a kick out of it,” Solomon said, smiling when Vincent laughed. “Not that I blame her.”

It wasn’t like he’d never noticed how attractive Vincent was. He’d have to be blind _and_ deaf not to, because even Vincent’s voice was enough to make anyone go weak in the knees. But Vincent had never shown any interest in…well, anyone, now that Solomon thought about it. He’d never stopped to consider why, he just took it for granted that Vincent was dedicated enough to their work to keep any personal feelings on the back burner.

“I’m sorry,” Solomon said, though whether he was apologizing for not noticing sooner or getting kidnapped and forcing Vincent’s hand, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both, not that it mattered, because Vincent just shook his head and caught one of Solomon’s hands in his own. For a moment he studied their entwined fingers, then he lifted their hands to his mouth and brushed a kiss across Solomon’s knuckles.

It was a strange reason for Solomon’s knees to wobble, but he swayed a little anyway, and Vincent caught him around the waist and eased him backward to sit down on the edge of the bed. When he started to let go Solomon gripped the hand that was still wrapped around his and tugged, eyebrows raised in invitation.

Or maybe it was a challenge. The two had always sort of gone hand in hand with them, and Vincent had never turned him down before. So it caught Solomon off guard when he shook his head and took a step backwards, pulling his hand out of Solomon’s. 

“I won’t take the chance of making your injuries worse.”

A surprised laugh escaped Solomon. “If you’re about to give one of your monologues on patience, you can save it.”

Vincent’s smile told Solomon he had about a half dozen at his fingertips to choose from, but they both knew Solomon had heard them all before. Usually they were directed at Nikko, and once in a while Cal, but Solomon had been there for most of them. Instead of answering Vincent turned his back on Solomon and crossed the room to stop at the door. 

“I didn’t say you had to leave.”

Vincent cast a glance over his shoulder that was a mixture of amusement and pity, then he reached for the bag he’d dropped on the floor just inside the door. His travel bag, Solomon knew, and when he saw what Vincent pulled out of it he laughed again. “Seriously?”

“You said you weren’t tired. If you’d rather I go so you can get some rest…”

Solomon shook his head as Vincent dragged a small table and chair over to the bed so he could set up the chess board he always traveled with in front of Solomon. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Vincent smiled at him as he arranged the pieces on the board. “Sometimes that is all we need.”


End file.
